China Digital
Mimeng and ‘Self-Media’ under Attack for Promoting Fake News Stories to Chinese Readers
Chinese ‘zimeiti’ or ‘self media’ have become a topic of discussion after this Mimeng scandal.
Published
6 years agoon

First published
China’s “Queen of Self-media,” Mimeng, is under attack after publishing a story that has been labeled ‘fake news.’ The scandal has triggered discussions on the status-quo of Zimeiti (自媒体/We Media) on the Chinese internet.
It was one of the most-discussed topics on Weibo and WeChat right before the Chinese New Year: the scandal involving Chinese blogging account ‘Mimeng’ (咪蒙), which sparked discussions on Mimeng herself and on the regulation and responsibility of ‘we media’ accounts on the Chinese internet.
Who or what is ‘Mimeng’? First and foremost, Mimeng is an online social media account with an enormous fanbase: 13 million followers on WeChat, 2.6 followers on Weibo.
The person behind the Mimeng blogging account is Ma Ling (马凌), a Chinese female author and Literature graduate who was born in 1976 in Sichuan’s Nanchong.
Over the past few years, ‘Mimeng’ has grown into a so-called ‘we media’ or ‘self media’ platform (zimeiti 自媒体), referring to private, independent, online publishing accounts that get their content across through blogs, podcasts, and other online channels. Mimeng is now more than Ma Ling alone: there’s an entire team behind it.
Mimeng has been controversial for years because of its clickbait titles and controversial stances on various issues. The topics most addressed in Mimeng’s publications are relationships between men and women, love, marriage, quarreling, and extramarital affairs.
Previous articles published by Mimeng, who is a self-labeled ‘feminist’ (and often mocked for it), include titles such as “This Is Why You’re Poor,” “Jealously Means Progress,” “I Love Money, It’s True,” “Men Don’t Cheat for Sex,” or “How to Kill Your Wife.”
Besides its content, there are also other reasons why Mimeng has triggered controversy in the past. The fact that Mimeng charges a staggering amount of money to advertisers, for example, is also something that previously became a topic of discussion – Mimeng allegedly charges some 750,000 yuan ($113,000) for a post mention.
SELLING FAKE STORIES
“As an influential We Media source, we must take on our social responsibility”
This time, however, Mimeng is hit by the biggest controversy thus far. The media group is under attack after publishing a story that turned out to be (partly) fabricated. The story was published on a WeChat account called Talented Limited Youth (才华有限青年), which is registered under the same legal entity as Mimeng. Its primary author, according to Sixth Tone, is a former intern of Ma Ling called Yang Yueduo.
The publication in question is a long story titled “The Death of a Top Scorer from a Poor Family” (“一个出身寒门的状元之死”) which allegedly portrayed the short life of the author’s old classmate: a young, bright mind, born in an impoverished family in Sichuan province. In the story, the protagonist did all he could to create a better life for him and his family.
He studied hard, got the best university entrance score of his city, and successfully graduated from university. But despite his efforts to start a life in the big city, he failed to succeed and tragically died of cancer at the young age of 24.
Shortly after publication, the moving and tragic story went viral on social media. However, several details made online readers doubt the story’s authenticity. It did not take long before readers proved that several aspects of the story were indeed untrue.
In light of the fake news allegations, Talented Limited Youth quickly deleted the story from WeChat. They also issued a statement defending the story’s authenticity, explaining that for privacy reasons, various details of the story were altered. According to Beijing News, Talented Limited Youth was then banned from posting on WeChat for 60 days.
In response to the allegations, Mimeng offered its “sincerest apologies” on Weibo on February 1st, saying: “The Mimeng Group has decided to completely withdraw from Weibo and take a two-month break from WeChat. We will use that time to carry out serious and profound self-reflection.” The post continued saying that “as an influential We Media source, we must take on our social responsibility and pass on positive energy and values.”
The announcement went trending under the hashtag “Mimeng Shuts Down Weibo Indefinitely” (#咪蒙微博永久关停#), which has received over 210 million views at time of writing.
POISONED CHICKEN SOUP
“Mimeng, for you, patriotism is only business”
On social media, there is a clear divide between those who support and oppose Mimeng. While some are calling for a “complete shutdown” of Mimeng, there are also those who say they will keep on following Mimeng and that they enjoy their publications.
The controversial Mimeng account has even brought about a so-called “Following Mimeng Rate” (含咪率), a number based on how many of your WeChat friends are following Mimeng‘s public WeChat account (by checking Mimeng’s account on WeChat, WeChat users can see how many of their friends are following this account).
Mimeng opposers allege that the more friends you have that follow the Miming account, the more likely you are “to fail in life.”
The official Weibo account of the Jiangsu Public Security’s Bureau of ‘Internet Safety’ (@江苏网警) is also a clear Mimeng opposer. Last week, they lashed out against Mimeng in a post titled “Mimeng, for you, patriotism is only business.”
The post hints at Mimeng’s inconsistent stance on patriotism, and it included screenshots from two earlier Mimeng posts from 2013 and 2016, one in which patriotism is referred to as a kind of “forced love,” and the other one saying: “I’ll love my country forever, its greatness will forever move me to tears.”
The post by the Jiangsu Bureau itself then also blew up on Weibo, with the hashtag “Jiangsu Internet Police calls out Mimeng” (#江苏网警点名咪蒙#) soon gaining over 210 million views. In the comment sections, many people criticize Mimeng for “deceiving people,” “promoting negative values” and “using anything to get clicks.”
One person wrote: “These self-regulated media only care about making money, they have no sense of social responsibility.”
Others said that the fake news story was nothing but ‘poisoned chicken soup’ (毒鸡汤).
This is a term that is often used to describe Mimeng’s content, and that of other self-media accounts, meaning that from the outside, it looks like “feel-good content” or “chicken soup [for the soul]” while it is actually ‘poisonous’ content with a marketing strategy or money-making machine behind it.
ZIMEITI CHAOS
“Self- media cannot become a spiritual pyramid scheme”
The Mimeng case has led to discussions in Chinese media on the status of ‘we media’ or ‘self-media’ platforms and their influence.
People’s Daily responded to the Mimeng scandal with a post on February 1st titled “Self-media Cannot Become a Spiritual Pyramid Scheme” (“自媒体不能搞成精神传销”), which argued that unless self-media accounts such as Mimeng actually work on establishing “healthy social values,” their apologies are only a way to temporarily dodge negative public attention.
In late January, Chongqing Internet authorities launched an investigation into 48 ‘self-media’ accounts, suspending two for spreading “fake news.”
State media outlet China News published an article, also this week, that describes ‘self-media’ as a ‘hypermarket’ where publishers will go to extreme measures, such as selling ‘fake news’ for clicks, spreading negative influences and anxiety among the people.
But these discussions are somewhat blurred, as it is not entirely clear what ‘self-media’ actually is in this context. Generally speaking, the term could include any micro-blogger who identifies themselves as ‘self-media’ or ‘we media’ (zimeiti 自媒体). But in the current discussion, it seems to only relate to those publishing accounts that have a certain influence on social media and the (online) media environment, posing a challenge to traditional news outlets.
Some definitions of Chinese ‘we media’ say it is basically is “an umbrella term for self-posted content on social media platforms” (Qin 2016; Jiang & Sun 2017) – this suggests that everyone who is active on WeChat and Weibo or elsewhere is basically in ‘self-media.’
A clearer description is given by Week in China, writing that “zimeiti typically operate as social media accounts run by individuals or as small firms established by a handful of former journalists.”
What makes it different from any other social media account, is that in ‘we-media’ or ‘zimeiti’ “the blogging has been professionalized and that the authors can make a living from it” (WiC 2018). It is a trend that has become especially visible in China’s online environment since 2012-2014.
This highly commercial side of ‘we media’ matters. If a publisher, such as Mimeng, charges advertisers exorbitant amounts of money, they also have to maintain a certain number of readers. They don’t just post as a hobby, it is serious business.
In a highly competitive online media environment, where hundreds of media outlets are fighting over the clicks of China’s online population of over 800 people, clickbait titles have almost become somewhat of a necessity for some of these publishers, with some even resorting to publishing “fake news” to get the attention – and the clicks.
China’s Newsweek Magazine (新闻周刊) calls the situation at hand a “self-media chaos” (自媒体乱象) that poses an “unprecedented challenge” for governing society in the 3.0 era. They call for “healthy development of self-media” and better legislation to control the mushrooming zimeiti, that, despite strong online censorship, are not as tightly controlled as China’s traditional media.
“Nowadays, we have less and less intellectuals, and more and more ‘people selling words.’ The chaos of self-media needs to be controlled,” one commenter on Weibo says (@ZY盒子).
But other people deem that readers themselves should pick what they read instead of authorities regulating it for them: “The important thing is that every reader must have the independence to judge for themselves [what they read]; just let the ‘poisonous chicken soup’ [naturally] lose their market.”
The Mimeng scandal shows that for social media accounts with a large following, one misstep can have huge consequences. This is something that Papi Jiang, a ‘self-media’ personality who became huge in 2015/2016, also experienced; she was reprimanded for disseminating “vulgar language and content” in April of 2016.
Very similar to Mimeng’s statement, Papi also issued an apology at the time, saying she supported the requirement for correction, and that she would attempt to convey “positive power” (正能量) in the future. “As a media personality,” she said, “I will watch my words and my image.” Papi’s CEO also expressed the company’s willingness to produce “healthier contents.” At the time, her videos were temporarily taken offline.
Meanwhile, some people think that the fact that Mimeng will stay silent for the coming two months is not necessarily a bad thing for the publisher: “They can take an extra long Spring Festival holiday.” As for Mimeng’s Weibo ‘holiday’ – that one is likely to be permanent.
By Gabi Verberg and Manya Koetse
References
-Qin, Amy. 2016. “China’s Viral Idol: Papi Jiang, a Girl Next Door With Attitude.” New York Times, 24 Aug https://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/25/arts/international/chinas-viral-idol-papi-jiang-a-girl-next-door-with-attitude.html [2.6.19].
-Sun, Yanran and Jiang. 2017. “A Study on the Effectiveness of We-Media as a Platform for Intercultural Communication.” In New Media and Chinese Society, Ke Xue & Mingyang Yu (Eds.), 271-284. Singapore: Springer.
-WiC. 2018. “Headline earnings – Zimeiti hunt media profits but they still need to play by the rules.” Week in China, 15 June https://www.weekinchina.com/2018/06/headline-earnings/ [2.6.19].
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Stories that are authored by the What's on Weibo Team are the stories that multiple authors contributed to. Please check the names at the end of the articles to see who the authors are.

China Digital
China’s Major Food Delivery Showdown: What to Know about the JD.com vs. Meituan Clash
Consumers are profiting from the full-blown delivery war between JD.com and Meituan—but is it just the same game with a different name?

Published
2 months agoon
April 30, 2025By
Ruixin Zhang
In April 2025, China’s food delivery sector witnessed a somewhat dramatic development, which attracted major attention online, when Chinese e-commerce giant JD.com publicly challenged food delivery leader Meituan.
On April 21, JD.com posted a noteworthy open letter titled “To All Fellow Food Delivery Rider Brothers” (各位外卖骑手兄弟们) on Weibo. In this letter, they accused Meituan (though not explicitly naming them) of monopolistic practices, after the company allegedly forced their delivery staff to stop accepting JD’s delivery orders. If riders chose to deliver for both companies anyway, they’d risk being blacklisted.
JD therefore accused Meituan of unethical behavior, neglecting their workers’ welfare, and pressuring part-time couriers to choose between platforms.
In their letter, JD vowed to support the freedom of Chinese delivery riders to accept orders from various platforms, and pledged to support those who were being blacklisted by offering them sufficient order volumes and full-time positions with benefits, including employment opportunities for their partners.
The bold move, dubbed the “421 Food Delivery Incident” by netizens, ignited widespread online debate.
“Underdog” JD vs. Meituan: The Start of a New Delivery War
JD.com is a household name in China’s e-commerce industry, best known for its electronics retail business. In recent years, it has expanded into fresh groceries, online supermarkets, and instant delivery services. Meanwhile, China’s food delivery market has long been dominated by Meituan (美团) and Ele.me (饿了么), the latter owned by Alibaba. Before a recent online controversy brought attention to it, many people weren’t even aware that JD had entered the food delivery space.
JD’s entry into China’s thriving food delivery market hasn’t been too long ago—the company officially only announced its JD Waimai (京东外卖) food delivery service back in February this year.
Before JD, other major tech companies like Tencent, Baidu, and ByteDance had all tried (and failed) to challenge the dominance of Meituan and Ele.me. But JD has a strong advantage: a massive logistics system with over 300,000 (!) delivery staff. Its Dada (达达) on-demand delivery and local logistics platform also has nearly 1.3 million active couriers, making JD a serious new competitor in China’s food delivery market. Not surprisingly, JD has already started hiring away talent from Meituan.
Amid JD’s growing presence, a post surfaced in April, reportedly from Meituan executive Wang Puzhong (王莆中), mocking JD’s food delivery ambitions as laughable. He used harsh language, calling JD a “cornered dog” making a desperate move (狗急跳墙). Then, on April 15, Meituan’s Flash Delivery service (美团闪送) released a video teasing JD’s supposedly slow delivery speeds (#美团闪购疑似嘲讽京东#). The video showed a dog with the caption: “Your Dongdong is still on the way” — a direct jab at JD, whose mascot is a dog and whose founder, Richard Liu (Liu Qiangdong), is nicknamed “Dongdong.”
JD swiftly hit back. On April 16, a video from an internal JD meeting was leaked, widely seen as a deliberate PR move. In the video, JD founder Richard Liu criticized the food delivery industry, claiming platforms were making excessive profits while restaurants struggled to survive. “Running a restaurant is already hard, yet platforms—just middlemen—are making a fortune,” he said. Liu added that JD would cap its profit margin at 5% and offer full social insurance to its full-time couriers—setting the tone for the official statement that followed.
Then came JD’s April 21 post, which launched a series of serious accusations against Meituan. JD claimed that Meituan had long restricted part-time couriers from working with other platforms and had failed to provide any social insurance to its full-time riders for over ten years. It also criticized Meituan’s working conditions, accusing the company of exploiting riders through algorithm-driven pressure while ignoring their safety. Additionally, JD accused Meituan of squeezing restaurants for profit, turning a blind eye to unhygienic “ghost kitchens,” and neglecting basic food safety standards. The tone of the post was sharply critical.
The attack prompted Meituan to respond publicly. That same evening, it issued a statement on its official WeChat account, denying that it had ever restricted riders from working with other platforms. Meituan also pushed back by accusing JD of mistreating its own couriers, pointing to heavy fines and unfair internal policies as the real issue.
However, Meituan’s response did little to improve its public image. On Weibo and short-video platforms, public sentiment largely turned against Meituan. That night, a netizen posted that JD CEO Richard Liu himself had delivered their JD order. Stories of Liu chatting with riders and restaurant owners quickly went viral, reinforcing his image as a down-to-earth, working-class hero—and earning JD another wave of goodwill.
At the moment, JD enjoys strong public support—not necessarily because it’s doing everything perfectly, but because it has timed its entry well, casting itself as the underdog taking on Meituan, the widely criticized corporate giant.
The Meituan Backlash
There’s no doubt that Meituan is a true giant. In 2024, the company generated a staggering RMB 300 billion (about $41 billion) in revenue. But this delivery empire has long faced ethical criticism—and JD’s recent accusations on Weibo highlight issues that many in the industry have raised before.
Meituan’s commission rates for restaurants are notoriously high, typically ranging from 15% to 25%. According to reports, around 60% of restaurants on the platform operate at a loss—even as Meituan continues to post multi-billion-yuan profits year after year. Many restaurant owners have voiced their frustration online, saying Meituan initially attracted them with generous onboarding incentives, only to gradually increase commissions, service fees, and so-called “tech support charges.” In the end, even strong sales often fail to translate into real profit. Yet with fierce competition and Meituan’s dominance in the food delivery market, many restaurants feel they have no choice but to stay.
For workers, complaints from Meituan couriers are nothing new. The faster they deliver, the more the algorithm shortens their future delivery windows, while slower deliveries result in fewer order assignments. This creates a vicious cycle, pressuring riders to break traffic rules just to meet deadlines. Unsurprisingly, their accident rate is reported to be three times higher than that of express couriers. To make matters worse, Meituan has historically provided no social insurance—neither for full-time nor part-time riders—leaving them on their own when accidents happen. As some couriers bitterly joke, “We’re not people—we’re just human batteries.”
For consumers, the concerns are just as serious. As I noted in an earlier article, Meituan’s platform increasingly hosts “ghost kitchens”—delivery-only outlets that often operate in unsanitary conditions, producing low-cost, low-quality meals to support Meituan’s Pinhaofan service and fuel ongoing price wars. It’s hard to believe Meituan isn’t aware of these practices; it simply appears to look the other way.
These examples are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Meituan’s ethical challenges. But for many users, they’re reason enough to delete the app—especially now that JD has positioned itself as a credible alternative.
Of course, few believe Richard Liu is driven purely by social responsibility—he’s long been skilled at presenting himself as a “man of the people.” In JD’s early days, he famously delivered electronics himself in a three-wheeler. Still, as many netizens have put it: “Judge by actions, not intentions” (君子论迹不论心). Whatever JD’s true motives, its current words and actions seem to align with the interests of ordinary consumers and workers. But the question remains: is that enough?
Different name, same game?
For many consumers, the showdown between JD and Meituan has been surprisingly entertaining, and even financially rewarding. The more intense the rivalry, the bigger the discounts. Netizens have been sharing screenshots of good deals they’ve scored from both platforms in recent days. Some media outlets have even declared, “Richard Liu is saving food delivery and changing the industry for good!”
Meanwhile, Taobao and Ele.me have also announced that they’ll be joining the big JD–Meituan showdown by making themselves more competitive. “Taobao Flash Delivery” (淘宝闪购) will now be prominently featured on the main Taobao app, and Taobao and Ele.me will be more closely integrated under Alibaba to offer customers faster delivery times and the best prices. That means more offers—and good news for consumers.

Taobao and Ele.me also join the big battle
But offline, couriers are responding more cautiously. Rider welfare has quickly become a key issue in this corporate battle—and may even become a way for platforms to stand out in a crowded market. But big promises aren’t enough. Only real, visible improvements will earn riders’ trust.
Courier A Ping (阿平) has long been sharing food delivery vlogs online. He used to work for both Meituan and Ele.me. Since April 16, he’s started posting about JD’s delivery platform, and has raised many concerns: part-time riders apparently find it hard to get orders, the system is difficult to navigate, the dispatch logic is flawed, and the navigation is poor.
In the comments section, other couriers are joining the discussion, with many agreeing that JD’s current system only works for full-time employees. “If full-timers get the full benefits, insurance and everything, then it;s probably not that easy to become one,” one wrote. “JD looks promising now, with high pay and benefits, but give it time—it’ll end up the same as the others.”
Another rider, Yu (小于) isn’t too excited about the JD-Meituan feud either. “JD’s fine system is super strict,” he said. “At the end of the day, all these platforms are the same.” Whether JD is just using this moment for PR or genuinely stepping up to take on more social responsibility—only time will tell.
By Ruixin Zhang
Independently covering digital China for over a decade. Like what we do? Support us and get the story behind the hashtag by subscribing:
edited for clarity by Manya Koetse
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China Arts & Entertainment
How K-pop Fans and the 13-Year-Old Daughter of Baidu VP Sparked a Debate on Online Privacy
What began as K-pop fan outrage targeting a snarky commenter quickly escalated into a Baidu-linked scandal and a broader conversation about data privacy on Chinese social media.

Published
3 months agoon
March 26, 2025By
Ruixin Zhang
For an ordinary person with just a few followers, a Weibo account can sometimes be like a refuge from real life—almost like a private space on a public platform—where, along with millions of others, they can express dissatisfaction about daily annoyances or vent frustration about personal life situations.
But over recent years, even the most ordinary social media users could become victims of “opening the box” (开盒 kāihé)—the Chinese internet term for doxxing, meaning the deliberate leaking of personal information to expose or harass someone online.
A K-pop Fan-Led Online Witch Hunt
On March 12, a Chinese social media account focusing on K-pop content, Yuanqi Taopu Xuanshou (@元气桃浦选手), posted about Jang Wonyoung, a popular member of the Korean girl group IVE. As the South Korean singer and model attended Paris Fashion Week and then flew back the same day, the account suggested she was on a “crazy schedule.”
In the comment section, one female Weibo user nicknamed “Charihe” replied:
💬 “It’s a 12-hour flight and it’s not like she’s flying the plane herself. Isn’t sleeping in business class considered resting? Who says she can’t rest? What are you actually talking about by calling this a ‘crazy schedule’..”
Although the comment may have come across as a bit snarky, it was generally lighthearted and harmless. Yet unexpectedly, it brought disaster upon her.
That very evening, the woman nicknamed Charihe was bombarded with direct messages filled with insults from fans of Jang Wonyoung and IVE.
Ironically, Charihe’s profile showed she was anything but a hater of the pop star—her Weibo page included multiple posts praising Wonyoung’s beauty and charm. But that context was ignored by overzealous fans, who combed through her social media accounts looking for other posts to criticize, framing her as a terrible person.
After discovering through Charihe’s account that she was pregnant, Jang Wonyoung’s fans escalated their attacks by targeting her unborn child with insults.
The harassment did not stop there. Around midnight, fans doxxed Charihe, exposing her personal information, workplace, and the contact details of her family and friends. Her friends were flooded with messages, and some were even targeted at their workplaces.
Then, they tracked down Charihe’s husband’s WeChat account, sent him screenshots of her posts, and encouraged him to “physically punish” her.
The extremity of the online harassment finally drew backlash from netizens, who expressed concern for this ordinary pregnant woman’s situation:
💬 “Her entire life was exposed to people she never wanted to know about.”
💬 “Suffering this kind of attack during pregnancy is truly an undeserved disaster.”
Despite condemnation of the hate, some extreme self-proclaimed “fans” remained relentless in the online witch hunt against Charihe.
Baidu Takes a Hit After VP’s 13-Year-Old Daughter Is Exposed
One female fan, nicknamed “YourEyes” (@你的眼眸是世界上最小的湖泊), soon started doxxing commenters who had defended her. The speed and efficiency of these attacks left many stunned at just how easy it apparently is to trace social media users and doxx them.
Digging into old Weibo posts from the “YourEyes” account, people found she had repeatedly doxxed people on social media since last year, using various alt accounts.
She had previously also shared information claiming to study in Canada and boasted about her father’s monthly salary of 220,000 RMB (approx. $30.3K), along with a photo of a confirmation document.
Piecing together the clues, online sleuths finally identified her as the daughter of Xie Guangjun (谢广军), Vice President of Baidu.
From an online hate campaign against an innocent, snarky commenter, the case then became a headline in Chinese state media, and even made international headlines, after it was confirmed that the user “YourEyes”—who had been so quick to dig up others’ personal details—was in fact the 13-year-old daughter of Xie Guangjun, vice president at one of China’s biggest tech giants.
On March 17, Xie Guangjun posted the following apology to his WeChat Moments:
💬 “Recently, my 13-year-old daughter got into an online dispute. Losing control of her emotions, she published other people’s private information from overseas social platforms onto her own account. This led to her own personal information also getting exposed, triggering widespread negative discussion.
As her father, I failed to detect the problem in time and failed to guide her in how to properly handle the situation. I did not teach her the importance of respecting and protecting the privacy of others and of herself, for which I feel deep regret.
In response to this incident, I have communicated with my daughter and sternly criticized her actions. I hereby sincerely apologize to all friends affected.
As a minor, my daughter’s emotional and cognitive maturity is still developing. In a moment of impulsiveness, she made a wrong decision that hurt others and, at the same time, found herself caught in a storm of controversy that has subjected her to pressure and distress far beyond her age.
Here, I respectfully ask everyone to stop spreading related content and to give her the opportunity to correct her mistakes and grow.
Once again, I extend my apologies, and I sincerely thank everyone for your understanding and kindness.”
The public response to Xie’s apology has been largely negative. Many criticized the fact that it was posted privately on WeChat Moments rather than shared on a public platform like Weibo. Some dismissed the statement as an attempt to pacify Baidu shareholders and colleagues rather than take real accountability.
Netizens also pointed out that the apology avoided addressing the core issue of doxxing. Concerns were raised about whether Xie’s position at Baidu—and potential access to sensitive information—may have helped his daughter acquire the data she used to doxx others.
Adding fuel to the speculation were past conversations allegedly involving one of @YourEyes’ alt accounts. In one exchange, when asked “Who are you doxxing next?” she replied, “My parents provided the info,” with a friend adding, “The Baidu database can doxx your entire family.”
Following an internal investigation, Baidu’s head of security, Chen Yang (陈洋), stated on the company’s internal forum that Xie Guangjun’s daughter did not obtain data from Baidu but from “overseas sources.”
However, this clarification did little to reassure the public—and Baidu’s reputation has taken a hit. The company has faced prior scandals, most notably a the 2016 controversy over profiting from misleading medical advertisements.
Online Vulnerability
Beyond Baidu’s involvement, the incident reignited wider concerns about online privacy in China. “Even if it didn’t come from Baidu,” one user wrote, “the fact that a 13-year-old can access such personal information about strangers is terrifying.”
Using the hashtag “Reporter buys own confidential data” (#记者买到了自己的秘密#), Chinese media outlet Southern Metropolis Daily (@南方都市报) recently reported that China’s gray market for personal data has grown significantly. For just 300 RMB ($41), their journalist was able to purchase their own household registration data.
Further investigation uncovered underground networks that claim to cooperate with police, offering a “70-30 profit split” on data transactions.
These illegal data practices are not just connected to doxxing but also to widespread online fraud.
In response, some netizens have begun sharing guides on how to protect oneself from doxxing. For example, they recommend people disable phone number search on apps like WeChat and Alipay, hide their real name in settings, and avoid adding strangers, especially if they are active in fan communities.
Amid the chaos, K-pop fan wars continue to rage online. But some voices—such as influencer Jingzai (@一个特别虚荣的人)—have pointed out that the real issue isn’t fandom, but the deeper problem of data security.
💬 “You should question Baidu, question the telecom giants, question the government, and only then, fight over which fan group started this.”
As for ‘Charihe,’ whose comment sparked it all—her account is now gone. Her username has become a hashtag. For some, it’s still a target for online abuse. For others, it is a reminder of just how vulnerable every user is in a world where digital privacy is far from guaranteed.
By Ruixin Zhang
Independently covering digital China for over a decade. Like what we do? Support us and get the story behind the hashtag by subscribing:
edited for clarity by Manya Koetse
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